Pulling at Threads
by GingerLibrarian
Summary: A short glimpse where two knights late at night discuss Padawans, missions and play shoes. May become a scene in a full length story.
1. Of Distractions and Getting Old

**Of Distractions and Getting Old**

Obi-Wan Kenobi decided he was getting old. Not that he _was_ old, but that he was _getting _old_._ He actually believed that his thirty-one years was really quite young, considering Yoda and all. But he was beginning to feel the creaks in the morning when he got out of bed.

He was getting old for classes filled with squirming initiates; old for a Padawan who was tall enough to look him in the eye; old for long meetings with the Jedi Council which usually ended with long missions that made him creak even more; _definitely _getting old for filling out pages of reports from said missions; and getting old for these late night work-out sessions.

Like many of the knights, Obi-Wan preferred to reserve his practice sessions until after the younglings are asleep. That way, one doesn't trip over initiates too slow to realize that a grown knight isn't paying attention to his surroundings.

The Temple hummed with the quiet ease of beings at rest. The corridors lay hushed, subdued from the chaos of daily life as if the Temple itself was resting.

Not everyone slept. Like Obi-Wan many knights and masters chose this time for betterment of the mind, body and spirit. Even now he could hear several sparring in the adjoining training room he currently strolled into. He preferred to work alone these late evenings so that he wasn't distracted. Force knows he has enough distractions when his apprentice was awake.

He meandered over to a bench sitting alongside the wall. As he walked his robe slid from his shoulders and was placed on the bench along with his belt. He dropped his chin to his chest, noting so the tightness across his shoulders.

Definitely getting old.

Striding to a corner of the room his boots sank into the soft, blue mats. He chastised himself as he sat for not warming-up on the stone center. This once he felt that the luxury of a soft seat far out-weighed personal enlightenment by chilled backside.

Spreading his booted feet apart he rested his forehead on his left knee. He noticed a twittering noise and glanced about as he continued to stretch. He noted a small, blue finch flitting about the arches. It must have gotten loose from the Room of a Thousand Fountains.

Obi-Wan never knew why they kept such creatures in the room. They were forever flying off with bits of thread tugged from his robe as he sat meditating. He also didn't relish being a stationary object on which to preen upon. He swore one day to visit a place with no such creatures. Perhaps then he could come out of meditation without being threadbare and littered with feathers. Perhaps a nice, desert planet would be void of such distractions.

Feeling his muscles heat he laid back for a moment, taking note of a light fixture that needed replacing. He then kicked his feet out and under, launching himself to his feet.

Distractions. Anakin was forever distracted. He always felt an itch to move, to go, to do _something_! Obi-Wan never understood how a young man who found it so hard to hold still could sit for hours tinkering on a droid part. Obi-Wan knew full well where Anakin got such distractions and had long since decided to ignore it.

Bending over Ob-Wan placed his palms flat the ground, then kicked his feet above his head, catching himself in a hand stand.

Anakin would be distracted on this mission. Obi-Wan had pointed this out to the Council, but they, in their infinite wisdom, ignored the fact.

He shifted his weight onto one hand, holding its pair horizontal to the mat.

Obi-Wan hoped that Anakin would not try anything stupid. They would be working around and seeing a lot of ugly things and Obi-Wan wondered how his apprentice would react to it. Distractions would be rampant on this mission.

Speaking of distractions, Obi-Wan grimaced as the bird released a rather loud falsetto note. He felt his balance slip along with his train of thought. He landed with an _oaf, _grateful for one giving into his laziness and using the mats. He glared at the finch at it chirped innocently before flitting away.

Bouncing on his feet he moved over to the center of the training room, noticing how cold the stone looked. The cleaning droids must freeze it simply to irritate knights that were getting old.

He began a set of barehanded katas, moving with deliberate slowness. He knew an initiate could perform them full speed, but it took a master to demonstrate the control and balance at a quarter that. He had heard of some knights who worked on a kata for months at this speed until he perfected it. Then and only then would he speed it up, moving just as seamlessly as if in slow-motion.

Gradually he moved through one set to another, gently parting the air with his hands and feet. He tried to feel the space between the air, as if he was merely a ripple instead of a boulder. The tightness across his shoulders released as he captured the Force in his movements. No, not capture, but mirror its swirls and eddies.

Suddenly feeling not so old he bounced into several handsprings coming to stand a few feet from the bench on which his cloak resided. He called his lightsaber to his hand in a way some might call a frivolous use of the Force. He called it practice.

Igniting the saber he repeated the katas, still slow and calm.


	2. Pink Sabers and Play Shoes

**Pink Sabers and Play Shoes**

Obi-Wan had dealt with slavery before and is no stranger to the cruelness of some creatures. He still remembers Anakin as a child, head bowed like a chastised canine when Obi-Wan reprimanded him. Anakin had come into the Temple full of life but painfully conscious to rank. Good, that is how it should be. There is reason young ones are told to respect their elders. They had already made all the mistakes and learned their lessons. Obi-Wan sometimes wished he was ancient, so that he would not be as ignorant he knew he was. He just didn't like the _old_ part. And he didn't like how Anakin out-grew his reverence for position.

He twirled his saber in his right palm and frowned. The balance was off. He brought it up to his face. The blade's color was off as well.

He reached over into his belt and brought out a small tool and began calibrating the hilt. There, the power-cell was loose. Must have been when he dropped it, again, earlier that day during a class he taught. How humbling for a knight to drop his saber before a room full of Padawans. Qui-Gon would have been pleased.

The thought of his master caused Obi-Wan to pause. He often allowed himself small moments of remembering, a silence tribute to the man who raised Obi-Wan.

Turning the saber back on he saw with satisfaction that the color returned to the blade and it vibrated with ferocious life. Stepping back into the center he twirled it, first in one hand and then the other; slowly, deliberately. Then he spun it so quickly that it melted into a shield of azure, in front of him, in back, overhead. He danced with it, outlining his body in a halo of glacial luminescence. Tossing it into the air and catching it without pause.

Hearing a chirp he glanced over at his cloak and saw the finch picking a strand from it, "Oi!" He called. "That's mine!"

Distractions. And this time it caused him to drop his saber. Again.

Shooing the bird away he bent to pick up his hilt. He suddenly froze, realizing he was being watched. The smell of Naboo flowers wafted into the room. "Tell me," A feminine voice called. "Is that how you impress the ladies?"

Wincing he stood and glared at his old friend and colleague, Knight Siri Tachi, "I meant to do that."

The smirking blonde bombshell of a Jedi strolled toward him, "You keep dropping that and the blade will be black and blue."

"Still better than pink." He retorted.

Her blue eyes narrowed, "Violet. And what's wrong with the color of my lightsaber?" She asked.

He fought to keep a serious expression, "It's girlie." He was treading dangerous waters now. No one could accuse Siri of being girlie. She was one of the toughest scrappers of his peers.

She stepped closer, arms crossed over her breast, "At least it's unique. Half the Jedi are running around with blue lightsabers."

He scowled, "My lightsaber is azure, not blue." The scowl turned ride-side up and he batted his ginger lashes. "Some say it goes with my eyes."

She gave a very un-lady like snort as she pulled free her cloak, "Not if your eyes are black from the beating I'm about to give you." She laid her robe besides his.

Siri had gone through Temple training with Obi-Wan. As younglings they couldn't stand each other, often butting heads. But as they aged they settled into a close friendship. They had been on several missions together and knew how the other ticked. Where Obi-Wan was cautious and thought out, Siri was a spur-of-the-moment spitfire with a vest for handling situations with a lightsaber.

Obi-Wan hadn't seen her in over a year. Her blonde hair was longer, just resting on her shoulder blades. She was thinner, but her eyes were just as blue. She had lost her tan, so her skin glowed like pure porcelain. Forgoing her usual leather unisuit she wore a soft, one-layered tunic and trousers.

"My memory seems to be failing." Obi-Wan mused. "I don't recall you ever beating me."

Siri began stretching, "That's because I beat you so soundly you repressed the memory."

He twirled his blade in an open invitation, "Perhaps you could help recall that memory." A beat. "Girlie."

She launched into him in a flurry of violet. He took the defensive, allowing her to drive him into the wall. Suddenly he kicked out, catching a foot on the wall, somersaulting over Siri's head. He sank into a crouch, swinging a leg at her ankles. She leapt but caught a toe on his boot and tripped. Twisting she landed on a hand and turned the fall into a hand-spring, putting space between them.

Obi-Wan took the offensive, using his height advantage to rain blows down on her. Siri, in turn, aimed low. A long burn slashed his left calf.

They paused as Obi-Wan stared mournfully at his boot, "This is my favorite pair." He informed her.

She grinned, "Didn't your master tell you to wear play-shoes when sparring?" Her eyes sparkled. "Face it, Kenobi, you're loosing."

"No, I just want you to feel you're doing well."

Suddenly he exploded, once again using his weapon to draw dazzling images of light. He demonstrated how the katas, beautiful in slow-motion, were deadly full speed.

Despite the fact they sparred no-holds-bar, he was too much a gentleman to give her the smack-down she _so_ deserved. She, on the other hand, had no qualms about it.

She ducked and he caught a boot to the ribs. He stepped back, hissing at the dull ache. Siri paced around him, allowing him to regain the air she had forced from his lunges.

"Do you remember loosing now?" Siri asked.

"I recall aching a _little_," He joined her circling. "But then you've always hit like a girl."


	3. Sleeping People

**Sleeping People**

At her cry of indignation he bolted toward her. But instead of parrying or stepping back she moved forward. She ducked and balled herself into a knee-high obstruction. Unable to turn quickly enough he tripped over her small, hard form and fell flat on his back.

Groaning for effect, he laid there, spread eagle, eyes closed. He sensed Siri stand over him, hands on knees, a foot on either side of his head.

She gasped in mock delight, "Look! A sleeping person!" She gently toed his shoulder. "He's taking a nippy nap!"

He squinted up at the smirking blonde, noting the light freckles on her lower lip, "Can't you let me die in peace?"

The prodding turned not so gentle, "Aw, silly sleeping person. Looks like he's got a bad case of the 'poor me's.'"

Quickly he crossed his arms and latched onto her ankles. He then uncrossed his arms and sent Siri crashing to the floor. Before her backside hit the stone his lightsaber was called to his hand and held at her throat.

The winning stroke.

She glared at him as he lay, still flat on his back, grinning like an idiot, "Nap time's over." He said.

She glared half-heartedly at him, ignoring his offered hand as she rose to her feet. Siri walked over the bench and picked up a water bottle, "You're off." She announced. "When was the last time you fought anyone past Padawan status?" She asked, holding out the bottle to him.

He took the offered water and drained it. "Since my last mission."

"Which was when?"

"Six weeks ago," He grimaced at the memory. "I discovered that I'm highly allergic to hoi-broth. I had a violent reaction during a toast and nearly undid a week's worth of negotiations." He returned the empty bottle. "Anakin thought it was a riot."

Siri laughed, "Leave it to you to threaten national security with a health issue." She sat on the bench, suddenly serious. "I heard you going on a slave run."

Siri had gained her knighthood by poising as a slaver for over two years. She had worked her way up the ranks of a slavery operation and helped bring it to an end. She rarely spoke of her life during that time and despite immense curiosity Obi-Wan never asked. "How do you think Anakin will react?"

"Like a Jedi." Obi-Wan cared not to discuss the training of his Padawan. They had been teamed so unorthodoxly, Anakin arriving at the Temple already chosen as an apprentice and several years over the normal age.

Siri shrugged and let the matter drop, "I know you're no stranger to slavery, Obi-Wan, but watch yourself. I know that operation and they'll sell _you_ if they smell trouble.

"I don't plan on being sold," He joined her on the bench, frowning at the runs in his cloak. _Kriffing bird._ "My biggest consolation is that this mission will be short."

Siri gave him a look, "Last time you said that it took you three months to get home."

He returned the look, "That was because Anakin came down with a good case of the Neruvian Chills. Not my fault."

She shook the empty bottle playfully at him, "Honestly, don't make me come rescue you."

He gently reached out and took hold of her chin, turning her eyes to meet his. Beneath the playfulness he read honest concern for her friend. He smiled reassuringly, "Don't worry so much, I have no intention of needing a girl to save me."

Without a word Siri hooked her fingers under the bench and with the aid of the Force hauled it back as she stood, throwing Obi-Wan backward. She stared down at him wide eyed and innocent.

"Gee, the sleeping person fell down." She cooed.

She picked up her cloak and waltzed from the room, whistling softly. Obi-Wan, legs still draped high over the seat, rubbed the back of his head.

Definitely getting old.

2


End file.
